


Once More, With Feeling

by MogmaMittens



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: ... debatably, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ignoct Week, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Temporary Character Death, chara tags will be updated as fic updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 17:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13617738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MogmaMittens/pseuds/MogmaMittens
Summary: Ignis has always been good at thinking outside of the box.





	Once More, With Feeling

The sun rises and sets thrice before Ignis cares to drag himself out of bed - _his_ bed, back home at the Citadel. He just... doesn’t _want_ to. The sun burns his skin when he stands out in it too long, and it makes his eyes water when it edges past the sides of his visor. Every time he moves, so does the lead in his chest, burning a new hole into the inside of his ribcage. It’s just more effort than he’s willing to expend. On the fourth day, though, Iris finally barges down his door and lets him know _very clearly_ that she’s holding a weapon and she’s not afraid to use it.

 

His scars ache. They aren’t used to sunlight, or the humidity of the coming rain. Seasonal weather came back consistent with the return of the sun - and, therefore, the water cycle - and the rain is not kind to his skin. It did rain before, courtesy of the Leviathan, but it reflected that of the poisoned earth. No one wants to be caught in _that_ kind of rain.

 

He can’t stop thinking about it. The funeral, if you could call it that, was short. Bittersweet, in the sense that he could feel the sun burning his back and the pyre to his front, but that didn’t matter much to him. They burned Noctis after they'd found him propped up by his father’s sword in his chest, and decided he wouldn’t want a big ceremony. Nothing public. Only people he knew.

 

Ignis thought he deserved that much. Looking back on it, he doesn’t regret the hasty, badly timed service, not even after the first reaches of the restoration effort found the remains of the pyre in front of the well-dilapidated citadel and drew their own conclusions.

 

It’s silly, he thinks, that when Noctis was burning, he wanted to take the time to find his hand. Hold it. Ease the loneliness he’s sure he felt when he was dying. With the fire nearly licking his cheeks - because he couldn’t bear to be any farther than that - he figured it’d feel nearly the same.

 

Ignis keeps his ashes in a necklace. They're closer to his heart that way.

 

They want _him_ to rule Lucis. It makes sense, in its basest form - _he_ did all the training to be king, after all. The realization of it still shakes him, even though it’s been ten, eleven years since it’s hit. The prophecy has been written for so long, etched in stone by the Astrals; it seems foolish now to fall for someone _so obviously_ designed, both by family and by fate, to lose himself to the greater good.

 

Ignis doesn't want to think about sitting on that throne anyway, with Noctis’ long-bleached-but-still-there blood on his back. He can still feel it under his nails, caked to the bottom of the boots he hasn't dared to touch since the sun rose. His clothes hang reddish-brown in _his_ closet, and the feel of them against his palms makes bile rise in his throat.

 

Worse, though, is the concept of throwing them away, because to throw them away is to discard a piece of Noctis, so here they remain. Sometimes, he thinks he can smell them.

 

He doesn’t like to think about it.

 

When he puts the ensemble on again, once more, he notes the way the nastier bits scratch at his skin, and how it crinkles when he moves. The sleeves are stiff, either from disuse or from gore dried into the material is unclear, but it makes his stomach clench either way.

 

Noct’s bed is warmer than he’s ever felt it, and when he falls asleep he can swear he feels his hand.

 

 **Game over.** Load save?

 

 **>** **Yes**               No

 

Run C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Final Fantasy XV\ffxv.app

 

Launching…

 

Launching…

 

* * *

 

**_The right thing… what is it? I wonder… If you do the right thing… does it make… everybody... happy?_ **

 

* * *

 

The Citadel is quiet again today.

 

Noct’s been gone for a week or so, off to Tenebrae, so a bit more silence is to be expected - no little princes to hip at his heels, or disrupt his lessons. Ignis misses it.

 

Still, it's… even quieter than that. Too quiet. He can't focus. The words in his books blend together, the scratch of pen on paper is too loud, and everything just feels _wrong._ Uncomfortable, like putting your left shoe on your right foot. It twists at his gut, makes him want to storm out of his lessons more than once - which he _never_ does, except if Noct asks him to - but there's no solace in the gardens, either. Or his room. Not even when he buries his nose in his and Noct’s astronomy book.

 

It's _tension_ , he realizes at dinner, when someone drops a fork and he nearly jumps out of his skin. The whole Citadel is heavy with it, drawn tighter than a bowstring and doubly as dangerous. Tension never leads to anything good, or so he's been told. Uprisings, and the fear associated with them. Deviation. Something’s gone _wrong._

 

Nothing breaks until the next morning, and he learns about it from the radio before anyone in the Citadel sees fit to tell him.

 

Most of the royal family of Tenebrae slaughtered in their own home. Ravus, the oldest son, was not found; nor was the son royal family of Lucis, Noctis.

 

Ignis swallows. While _not found_ certainly didn’t sum up to death, he had no idea what Noct was going through. If he was even alive, how any of this worked, how he could fix this -

 

He feels a crackle in the back of his head, like pop rocks.

 

_Not again._

 

 **Game over.** Load save?

 

 **> Yes**                No

 

Delete C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Final Fantasy XV\process\Regis Sacrifice.exe

 

**Files deleted.**

 

Delete C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Final Fantasy XV\characters\Lunafreya Nox Fleuret.chr

 

**Files deleted.**

 

Run C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Final Fantasy XV\ffxv.app

 

Launching…

 

Launching…

 

**Fatal error has occurred. Please restart program or restore system files.**

 

Run C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Final Fantasy XV\ffxv.app

 

Launching…

 

Launching…

 

**Fatal error has occurred. Please restart program or restore system files.**

 

Run system diagnostic?

 

 **> Yes**                 No

 

Run C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Final Fantasy XV\diagnostic.exe

 

Searching…

 

Searching…

 

 **Error found!** File, “Noctis Lucis Caelum.chr" has been corrupted. Attempt to restore?

 

 **> Yes    **              No

 

“Noctis Lucis Caelum.chr" restored.

 

“Lunafreya Nox Fleuret.chr" restored.

 

…

 

Delete C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Final Fantasy XV\characters\Prompto Argentum.chr

 

**Files deleted.**

 

Run C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Final Fantasy XV\ffxv.app

 

Launching...

 

Launching…

 

* * *

 

 **_T_ ** **_here were so many things I wanted to say to you, but I could not find the words._ **

 

* * *

 

Noct is quieter, this time around. More than usual, at least, and living several consecutive lifetimes with someone _does_ give you a general idea of behavior. He finds him more often than not in bed, curtains drawn, all day. Every day. Perish the thought, he almost _misses_ sneaking out at night with him.

 

Ignis creeps into room slowly, because he’s probably asleep, and proceeds past the threshold only when he sees the light of a phone peeking out from beneath the blankets. Noct looks up at him, more apprehensive than he needs to be, then edges back on the mattress enough for Ignis to sit down. He takes it as an invitation, as always, and makes sure to close the door behind him before joining Noct in bed.

 

“How are you feeling?” He asks once he’s seated, rather uncomfortably, at the edge of his mattress. Patience, he’s learned, is a virtue with Noct - jumping right in would only net you more trouble than necessary. He would wait to be invited in farther.

 

“Bad.” Ignis watches him eye his lamp suspiciously, “don’t you want the light on?”

 

 _“You_ don’t.”  
  
Noct swallows and looks away, like he’s guilty of something. “Yeah.”

 

“Do you want me to go?” He’s careful to keep his hands in his lap at the risk of them threading into Noct’s hair without his permission, where he _wants_ to put them. If he were paying attention - which he is - he’d notice Noct scooting closer. Just a little. Just enough to let Ignis know he needs to stay, and this _isn’t_ one of those days where he’d get screamed at just for being there.

 

“Don’t care.”

 

“Mm.” Ignis stands and for a moment Noct looks _terrified,_ but thankfully, he has no plans of leaving. He relaxes easily enough when he realizes Ignis is just pulling back the blankets, enough to leave Noct a way out without them both being jostled in the process. “I think I’ll stay, then. Not much else to do today.” Less carefully than the first time, he sits back down, swinging his legs up and leaving them straight out on the bed while he sits against the headboard.

 

Noct watches him, eyes droopy, when Ignis takes off his glasses, folds them neatly, and places them on the side table. He almost thinks he’s trying to figure out whether he’s staying, or if he’s just going to dash whenever the opportunity presents itself, which… Ignis would think was silly, if he didn’t know Noct was terrified of it.

 

This is bad. Noct needs more stability than he and Gladio alone can offer, that much is apparent, and while that isn’t a particularly hard conclusion to come to on his own, he couldn't have guessed the impact would be _this_ bad. It was hard enough to get him to eat before, but now he’s practically wasting away. His school life suffered, before he managed to graduate (just barely), and Ignis is… tired. Tired of seeing Noct this way, especially since he can _prevent_ it.

 

Barely, he notices Noct shifting over onto his lap, his head on his thigh and an arm wrapped loosely around his knee. Ignis absentmindedly lets his hand find his hair then, his thumb stroking behind his ear as he combs through the knots at the back of his head. The feeling of it brings him back from the depths of his mind, and he notices it’s too warm in his bedroom, so much so that it’s uncomfortable, and Noct’s phone won’t stop vibrating against the back of his leg.

 

“I hope that’s not anything terribly important.”

 

Noct barely moves, just drags a hand down the outside of his calf. Ignis has learned to expect no response, really, and even him _moving_ was more than he was used to. He’s wont to fall asleep like this, and has more times than Ignis could count. “Hnh?”

 

“Your phone.”

 

“Hnghn.”

 

Ignis wonders, vaguely, if he would be like this, were Ignis not there. If Noct would lay on someone else for hours until he fell asleep, or if this is an isolated incident. It doest make him _think,_ though, that maybe there’s something he can change otherwise. To fix things. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it, so instead he focuses on detangling what’s left in Noct’s hair, then changes to scratching the nape of his neck. Noct relaxes fully against him when he does, and Ignis knows he’s going to be asleep soon.

 

Noct’s fingers twitch on his knee, and Ignis wants to hold them. It makes his chest hurt.

 

Once he’s sure he’s fallen asleep, which takes little more than his leg shifting and Noct _not_ telling him to knock it off, he lets himself relax. Tilts his head back against the headboard. _Focuses._

 

Continue?

 

Yes               ** > No**

 

Return to title screen?

 

 **> Yes   **              No

 

Restore C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Final Fantasy XV\characters\Prompto Argentum.chr

 

“Prompto Argentum.chr” restored.

 

Delete C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Final Fantasy XV\characters\Ignis Scientia.chr

 

 **Warning!** Deleting administrative file could cause catastrophic system failure. Proceed?

 

 **> Yes      **           No

 

Files 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 files found!

 

File name: “Ignis Scientia_ô̷̪̂r̶̪͈͘a̸̼̅c̶̤̫̈́l̴̝̖͊e̶̤̩̔̎.chr”

 

File name: “Lunafreya Nox Fleuret_k̶̞͉̄ḭ̷̹̓̇ñ̸͙g̵̰͐͂s̴̼̅ģ̷̘̈́l̴̨͙̓a̴̖͋ȋ̷͔v̴̧͆̏e̷̬͛̌.chr”

 

File name: “Noctis Lucis Caelum_King.chr”

 

Would you like to run these files?

 

 **> Yes**                No

 

Run C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Final Fantasy XV\ffxv.app

 

Launching…

 

Launching…

 

**Fatal error has occurred. P͠lea̴se ͠re̢s̶ta͡r̕t҉ pro̕g̢ram͘ or ͢r͡est̴or҉e͘ ̴system f̵il͝es. FF̸҉a̡͏̛t͏̸a͏̕l e̵̛r̸̷r͢o͞r̷ h͞ą͘͠s oc͠c̸u͠͠rr̴ę̷d.͢͡ P̷̶le͘̕as͠e͝ ҉r͢͢͞e͘҉̨s̢t̶͝͏a͠r̴͡t͝ p̸͜͝rog͟r̢̧am̧ ̨o҉̕r̴͟ ̕r̨̨͞e̡͟s̡to̕r҉̵e̴͢ ̸͘s̷y͏̢s̵̕͢t͏̕͜e̡͏m̨̨ ̷̨f͠i͏l͘̕es̶.̛ F̷̞̲a̪̳͟͜t͙̖̭̞͜ͅa̭͈̰̭̫̦͓͝l̛͙̜̥̫ ͏̧̼͕̮̩̱̥͍̬e̦̺̻͍͈̕͜͝r̵̜͚͝r̡͏̭̦̠̝̪͕o̷͖̹͈r̨̥ ̸̩̺̪͚͇͘ḩ̺͔̰̤ą̧̙͕̱̰s̩̦̥̜͖͎͚͝ ̢̜̭͇̠͚̟̖̗o̡̺̬͈̤͈̝c͚̥̥͜͠c̣̱̱̙͓̱̗u̴͉̬r̛͉͍͓͉͖r̺̖̹̱͘e҉̮̲͚̯͕ͅḑ̣.̡͕̣͢ ̸͔̖̮̫͈͙P̢̥l̛͉͡e̵̡͓̱̪̦̞̩̲̹͘ą̭͙̲̦͎ş̱̰e̘͖͎̩̼̘͓͝ ͍̞r̶͈͓̠̮̙̣̙̖e̵̡̼̩͇͈s̩̘͟͜t̨̢͔̭͕̻̖̪̜͇a͕̙͚̟̺̘͜r̻̙͚̼͙͎t̴̜̬͝ͅ ̷̵͏̭̰p̵̶͇r̠̹̮̻͠o̢̹̗͈̺̰g̗̠r̵͍̠͎͔̝̪̦a̰͉̫͕̜̖̠͞m̱͈̳̭̫̪͈ ̴͜͏̤̮͇̹͎̼̮o̬̝̭͜r̵͈̙͔̟ ͔͙͉̗͚̫̖̪r̼̩̼̞̺͕̗e̸̜̥͍͍͓̟͎̳͔͢s̼̪̮͖̘̯ͅt͉͙͟o̸̡̫̲̲̰̥̳̰͞r̳͉̠͖̹̬e҉̮͝ ̯͍̼͖͖̹͈̬͜s̷͇̝̝̩̲̼͘y̷̹͕̙̥̻s̵̛̗̟̖̳̤̖ţ̢̭̞̤͝e͉̙͔̺͜m̢̤̯͜ ̫͔̘̼̺͍̕f͏̵̩͖̰̦͈͚i͓̝̞̼̬l̡̳̻̳̙̹͉͚͢e̴̴͕̼͍s͓͓̜̬̝̺͕͟ͅ.̮̭͍̱̙͍̱͙͟ F̴͖̟̦͙͘a͢͏͖̖̬̳̞̠̱̥̺̠̦̮̖̩̦̳̣̱t̮͈̰̯͙͟a̢̢̤̫̖͚̫̼͖͞l̢̨̹̺̻̠̼̲̙̙͇͙̣͎̯͎̙̜̳̰͘͢͞ ̘͈͇̠̹̪̖̟̥̯̘̺͖͚̜̞͓͝ę̴̕҉͎̘̰͈̘̺̦̦̩͎r̷̡̢͖̞͇̗̟̟̬̯͎̹̹͕̳̰͇̯̖ͅr̸̭̜͙̖͎̖̜̳̲̱̕͢͢o҉̩͓͔̜̙̫͍͈̩̤͙̮̟͍͡r̡̭̗͍̮̟͎ ͟͡͏̼̠̩̥̞̝̣͙̙̣̟̮̥̻̤̻͟h̡̛̪̬̥̠̥̖̘̞͚̤̘̩̣͈͇͎̱̕͞ͅa̯̮̪̬̗̞̖͎͙̬̫͘͢͞͝s̵̜̬̙̮̘̱̹̦̭͕̱͟ ҉̷̘̟͖͍̕͟o̢̧̡̢̙̼̻̖̼̯̮͙̟͍̭͘ͅc̵̮̺̺̟̼͡c̷̨̛͈͍͈̲͔͔͙͖͖̯̘͙͈̯ͅͅu҉͔͇̗̥ŗ͖̻̝̝̬̱̬͖̩̙̼̪͘͞r̢̳͉̝̩̣̻͓͙͈͙͇̝̺͇̰̝̘̳͠͝e̛̲̼̻̺̺̻̘͍̰̹̟̭̳͖̤̼̕͟͡d̶̻͖̳̱̻̪̯̥̠͕̘͟.̶̛̗̭͇̲͈̠͓̫̜͖̙̰̦͔ ̵͞҉͈͕͖̲̘ͅP̶̵̪̱̺̲͍̣̱͜l̛̩̖̰̦̪̰̣̕͟ͅḙ̣̰̠̕͜a̸̶̡̛̳̜̝̤̯̖̠͙̝̠̱͟ͅs̸̛͉̮̤̦̞͙͍̘̦͉̟̲̹͔͝͠e̛̘͍̜̼̯͕̫͈̙̰̝͇͜ ̸̤̝̰̮̲̪͟r̴̢̧̙͇̮̹̺̟̫̟͞e͜҉̩͎̬͈͚͎̪͓̙̹̟̱͚s̸̸̰̰̳̣͙͇̻̠̞͖̭͖̩͙̹͜͝t͕̼̹̖͍̠͘͘a̷̻͚̗̥̩̱̕͘͞͡r̩͎̻͕̜̹̖̭̘̮̜̬͖̝͝t̵̡͍̻̠̣͍̳̕ ̶̡̥͉̥̙̲͇͍̖̣ͅp͜͏̢̡̰̜͓̝͕̥̗͕͚̬̤͙̝͓ͅŗ̶̥̼̬̖̘̙̲̱͖̺̮̜̭̗̦̫̬̹͘͟͠o͏̸̦̞͖͇͚͉̬̥̟͉͓͎͕͔̜̖̦̻͟͠ģ̸̵̞̥͎̞̤̱͚͍̘͙̝r̶̨̛̝̝̟̩͞a̸̗͚͉͉̳͖̭̞͔̪͍̱̘̼̘̭͡m̵̢̞̱̺͙͉͙̲̲͎̦̞̗͎̳ ̧̡̻̰̩̹̥͎͎͚̼̦̳̟̪̯͎o̢͉̼̦̩̝̤̯͍̞͔̕͡r̵̛̳͓̖͎͙̤͞ ̶͍̗̜̟͇͚͖̠͉̝͔̫̜̖̰͟ͅṛ̸̡̛͚̺̮̗͎͞e҉̧̲̠͓͓̘̠̣̣͓̲s̛̤͔͎̣̭͍̻̻̥̣͡t̵͙̜̭̣͎̮͔̮̭̟͠ͅo͉͉̬͖̠̕ͅr͓͓̝͈̯̞̤͙̘̞̩̕͟͟ḛ̛͓̻͚̯̖͇͉̳ ̸̛̝̰̗̬̥̻̼̫̹̟̦̟̱̖͈͕͍̝͝s҉̮̺̣͘͘͡͞ͅy̨̜̫̠͕̙̯͇̯̟̜̬͕̦̳͔͜s̢͖̩̗̣̻̲̖̼͎̩͙̥̦͇̩̮͚̹͠t̸̩̭͚͎͍̠͟͡ę̵̸̶͉̣̰͚̟̯̪͎̳͚m̷̨̡͍̖̖̹̺̭̲̼̰̲̣̩͡ͅ ̧͉̫͎͈̼͉̘f̸̢̟̙͚̹̠͉̞̕͘͠ͅį̯̗̠̳̥͉̜̤͇̖̬̰̠͘͟ḻ̼̣̮̲̜͎̫̣͇̬̞̤̭͘͢͜͢͠e̷͓̣͍̖̟͝s͓̲̰̼͠.̛͢͏̱͈̫͝**

 

* * *

 

**_I killed her for crawling in my head. For showing me that. But before she opened her mind to mine, my only thought was that I would love to kill her. And at the end, I killed her because I loved her._ **

 

* * *

 

 

It isn’t supposed to be this way.

 

Ignis can remember - _something,_ so far away that he can hardly feel it _-_ but it’s what’s right, and this… this is wrong. He can feel it in his bones; it wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. He wasn’t supposed to be _on this side._

 

Still, he has his job. Even if it pulls at him, makes him want to run the other way… he’s got to see it through. Ignis has never been one go to back on a promise, and this is no different.

 

Breaking into the Citadel is easy enough. The east wing is the easiest place to get in, opposite of the residential area, with only four guards on rotation. If the information is right, there would be more the closer he got to the prince - nothing he couldn’t handle, though, he’s been assured. The first two go down with ease, and Ignis stuffs them into the first closet he can find. It’s not on his map, but he can guess. Intuition. It’s why he’s good at this.

 

The halls are long, twisting. He knows them, knows that the kitchen will be on the left, the throne room on the right, and the map in his hand confirms it. He’s careful not to turn into a new rotation, where he could be caught; while he’s sure it wouldn’t be an issue for him to take care of, he’d like to avoid the possibility of a siren, or worse: an evacuation.

 

When he reaches the door to the throne room he reaches out, and runs a gloved hand over the dips in the wood. He feels like he’s been here before, like if he steps too far off his path he’ll find out something he’s missing, something he _should_ know.

 

It creaks when it opens, not loud enough to be dangerous but just enough that he feels it, and then something knocks loose in his mind.

 

How is he here if he isn’t _supposed_ to be?

 

There are protections over Insomnia. He knows this, obviously, he’s been in and out of it his whole life with no problems where others would have struggled. There’s something he doesn’t know, and it’s somewhere _here._ Somewhere hidden, he just- he just needs to find it.

 

First, though, he has a mission he needs to complete. Everything will fall into place after that, he knows it. He just hopes he doesn’t regret it.

 

He steps into the throne room carefully, caught too much on the actual _throne_ than he was watching out for any glaive that were there. The window above the throne leaves the room bathed in moonlight and it’s _beautiful,_ leaving the stones and tile lit up like a mirror to the night sky. His footfalls echo, almost, and then come to a stop as he stands before the platform that holds the throne.

 

And then he feels the point of a knife digging into his back.

 

“Who’re you?” The accent is … from Tenebrae, maybe. Definitely not Lucian. He tenses, and it jabs into the fabric of his coat. She’s not adverse to kill, apparently.

 

Neither is he.

 

“I’m not. Asking. Again.” She takes a step forward, probably to go for his neck. Easier to control him that way, to get him still until other members of the Crownsguard could arrive. “Who are y-”

 

She gasps when Ignis grabs her wrist, lightning fast and hard enough to break, and throws her over his shoulder and onto the floor. This is... bad. If the glaive here are worth their salt - and he was guessing they are - she would’ve set off a trigger. A silent alarm, something to call everyone to their location. It was foolish to just stand there where he could’ve gotten caught, but he _was_ sure he was safe. Strange.

 

Seeing her face - oh, and it is a familiar one - doesn’t help his impromptu walk down fake-memory lane. The impact of the fall knocked her ponytail out of place, fanning her blonde hair out over the floor, and she tries to throw her knife to teleport away before he steps down and grinds his heel into her forearm. That was a fracture, at the very least.

 

 _Lunafreya Nox Fleuret,_ his mind supplies. He shouldn’t know that, but he isn’t about to forsake the information just because he isn’t _supposed_ to know it. She - _Lunafreya_ \- looks up at him like he’s killed her puppy, which he thinks is reasonable, considering he’s got his own daggers drawn and just moved to step on her other arm.

 

If she was smart, she would use her legs to escape. And oh, she does try, swings her body up and gets a shin to each side of his shoulders, almost manages to put him in a headlock - but he’s faster. Quickly, because people _must_ be coming, he waits until they’re up against his back again (like he doesn’t _know,_ how _charming_ ) and knifes the meat of her calves, twists, and pulls. They weren’t in the right place to damage the bones, but it _does_ shred the muscle, and that’s good enough to keep her down. Not exactly clean, but he wasn’t hired to be _clean._ He was hired to get shit _done._

 

“I _am_ sorry it had to be this way, Lady Lunafreya,” he says conversationally, like she’s not looking up at him with enough malice in her eyes that he’d shrivel were he not used to it, “it’s nothing _personal._ Commitment, you know how it is.”

 

He kneels down and, with a wide swing of one of his curved daggers, he slices her throat. She looks so shocked that he almost feels bad. Maybe it’s because he knew her name. Maybe it’s because she _knows_ why he’s here. The king is gone, after all, and there are no other visiting dignitaries. It doesn’t matter either way, she’s unconscious by the count of ten, and she’ll die before he’s done. No skin off his back. She can never identify him, and the bizarre coincidence that let him know her name was just that - a coincidence.

 

She’s still gargling blood when he steps over her body, careful not to slip in her blood (wouldn’t _that_ be embarrassing), and leaves.

 

The prince’s door is unlocked. It’s kind of funny, really, because why _would_ he lock his door? He has guards, after all.

 

It’s not like they had been hard to kill, but _he_ doesn’t know that.

 

He’s sleeping on his back, starfished out and snoring, just a little. Ignis would think it was endearing, were he here under different circumstances. Very charming. Killing him is a waste, almost. He stalks forward, puts a knee up on his quite honestly _ridiculously_ large bed, and curses the fact that he’s decided to sleep on his back. Killing him quickly - painlessly, rather, torture wasn’t on the agenda today - would be harder from this position.

 

The prince doesn’t stir when Ignis slides a hand under the back of his head and lifts it, just enough to get his dagger underneath. He opens his eyes, just barely, when it makes contact, and he recognizes the blue of them once he yanks his arm up and slices through his spinal cord. It’s a little lower than it should have been, because that was _shocking,_ and it doesn’t leave a clean cut. It’s enough to paralyze him, his _lungs,_ and Noct - _Noct, Noct, Noct, Noct -_ stares up at him with wide eyes and blood blooming out from behind his head.

 

 _Like an angel,_ he thinks, watching the redness spread out like wings.

 

And then he _feels_ it. Something coming, deep in his chest - something he’d always remembered feeling, vaguely, a hundred thousand miles away, a lifetime or three ago. It hits him suddenly like a train and twists his mind into something awful, something dangerous, sharper than he’s ever felt it. He’s scared.

 

Ignis has never felt love, not this time around. And maybe it’s better this way, this line of work… what he’s done, it doesn’t _let_ him love. It doesn’t let him _feel._ But he does, now. And it hurts. And he’s _angry._

 

Before he realizes, his dagger is raised up, again, and again, and again, and again, and there’s blood on his hands. His forearms. It sprays up and stains the mask covering the bottom half of his face, his the high points of his cheeks, gets into his eyes. He can’t take it, it’s too much, he can’t _take it._ Noct is staring up at him. He hasn’t hit anything vital yet, he’s still shaking for breath and Ignis can’t stop until his body _makes_ him, dagger half-then-fully submerged into Noct’s stomach.

 

In slow, jerky movements dictated by his breath, he leans his head down until his hairline is against Noct’s collarbone.

 

He cries.

 

It _shouldn’t_ be like this, _please._ He’s still breathing. Or, trying to, anyway. There’s blood in his airways now, probably _._ Oh Gods. Gods, Astrals, Ancient Ones, please, _Noct, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Gods, save him,_ I couldn’t, I couldn’t save him, _please, please, please, please, please please please please please please please please please please please please please please I KILLED HIM please pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasep̵lea͟s͟ep͠lea̶sep̕l̵eas҉e̛p͘l̡easep͡l͘e̸asep̷͢le̷ą͝s̸͘e̴̛p̷̢l̷ę͘a̴͡s̷̡͠e̕͠p̷͞l̛e̸̴a̧͞͡s̡̕͝e͏p̕͢l̡e̷͡a̛s̡͝e͡p͡l̷e͢as̷ep̬̥̮̱̭͍͇̕͟͜ͅͅl̰͕̖ͅḙ̸͇̲̹̜͉͟a̴̧͍̫̥̠͉̺̤̱̞͜s͎̟̬̳͇̖͟͜͡e̹̞̫̭̪p̵̬̮͇l̸̸̻̮͈͓̲̫̦e̝̙͇̹͡a̵̡̫̘̠͕s̫̼͝e͡҉̺̤͠p̷̛̙̳̺̞͝l̗̮̤̘e̢̝̖̳̞̠̺a̛̜̬̥ş͉̠̗͠e̵͍̭̪̪̰̳͚̠p̷̺̱͖̻l͏̛͍ͅe͏̮̤̠a̮̖̹͈̲̙͘s̤̥͍͘͝ȩ͇̠͇̻͖͓̹̼p̴̯͠l̨̨̡͚̹͉̼̠̱e҉͉͠a̡̟̲̺͖̺̩̲̭̕͡s̡̱̭ę̖p͏҉̨̹͔͖̠̳̪̳͇͙̮͉̤̣̻͇͝l̸̡̰͈͈̖̣͙̦̲̠̮̬̦̙̮̦̺̹͟ͅe̵͇͎̭̜̥̞̞̥͘͟͡a̴̶̛̛̘̮̦͙̣͕̫̳͚̹̼̮̲̼͈̖͔̳̺s͝҉̨̠̮̟̲̲̖̺̩̘̳̥̯͓̲̫͘ͅȩ̶̨̛̱͚͖̟͖̦̹̞̺̜̹̯̥̯͘p̷̶͓͔̫̪̭͖͢l҉̸̧͕͚͉̥̹͈͉̪̮͍̩̼̪̼̲͓̕e̴͞͏̳͔̻̻a̸̗̜̖̱̼̜̹̪̹̻̗͕̕͡s̸̵̭͚̰͎̖̳̤̳̰͕͉̠̭̩ȩ̸̡̣͖̣̥̱̩̗p͘͜͡҉̻͉͕l̨̢̬̰̩̜͖̖̘̪̟̯̳͉̣̦͎̯ͅe̵̶̸̺̭̫̻̫̦͇̲͇̟ą͓̘̠͔̯̳͇̺̟̣͇͍̦̘͈̮͙͘ͅs̜̠̫̰̰̪͖͚̹̹̞̲͜͡e͉͇̬͍͟͞p̷̧̞͙̹̺̯͇͔̫̤̻̮ͅļ̼͓̖͎̤͎̥̝͓̱̦̕͘͞ͅͅe͏̯͖̙̥̣̗͙̰̩̭̭͘a̶̗̖̜̻̞̙̯̳̕̕s̷̢̫̪͖̣͢e҉̸͏͏̢͖̦͎̟̮̤̖̞̮͎̖p̡̬̩̘͉̱͎̩̹̦̦͇̻̯l̷̶̡͚̻͈̮͕̩̰͓̝̦͕̯̫̼͎͡e̷̶͔͈̰͙͉̗̳͍͇̻̹͎̟͉̭͢͞ą̶̴̠̻͚̮͓̼̱̖͖̠͟s̶̨̝̹̜͈͇͎̙͙͇̪͍̙e͎̠̜̲̜̖̰͈͈̻̖̼͢͢P̵̡̛̮͕̺̺͓̪͈̞̩̬͢͞L̗͉̺͖̳͔͔͔̱͔̤̤͖̺͍͠͝ͅȨ̧͓͓̬̙͈̘̫͍̘A̴̸͙̻̘͓S̡͇̬̝̥̘̼̰̰̦̩̝̫ͅE̼̘͚̮̞̫̮̣̘̜͈̩͘͢͠ͅP̷̢̰̩͉̖̘̻̤̱̤͕̲͍͎͠L̨҉̠̜̪̣̕Ḛ̸̡͔̟̮̲͓̥̦͇̻̥̪̠̟̺͇̕A̴̛̙̱̳͍̲͈̙̗͇͉͎̭̩̘͈͍͜͟͡ͅS͏̫̟̰͍̟̩̩͙E̘͍̰̦͚̱̺̯͡P̶̶͙̯̖̘̥̤̗̥͚̳̪̗̤̖͔̝͈͇̺Ḷ̶͚̣̳̮̠͙̬̹̱͎͙͇̗E̷̢̹̹͈̰̥̜̠͔̖̭̙͢A͏̸̸̠̞͚̹̘̠̱͈͍̥̙̪̞̪͖̼͚ͅS̸͍̖͖͎͓̬̥̜̯̮ͅͅE̢̥͕̺̬̼͎̫̗̟̟͈͢P̡̡̭͔̜̝̮̦͙͇̦̩̥̣͞ͅĻ҉̰̙̪̝̤̖̭̺̮̠̳͘E̶͝͏̸͕̯̩̣͔A̱̩̪̹̩̩̕̕͡S̖̼͈̦͓͔E̛͔͓͓̰͕̰̮̜͔͚̠̰̞͙̬͘̕̕͞ͅP̵͟͏͎̪͇̖͉̙̰͎͓̦̲̮̘͡ͅL̴͏̜̠̹̹͍̗̝̩̮̥͎͜͝ͅE̸̵͚̗̳̺̼̤͓̝̯͚͈͝͞ͅĄ̵͕͙̦̰͕̪͎͉̝̗̺̟̠̥͟͢͠S̸̨̪͖̤͎͕͔̱̲̤͖͖͟͜͞ͅE̵̡̯͈͖̭̫͎̝̫͇͎̙͎̬̬Ǫ͓̩̺̩̤̬̝̯̫̙̗͚̯͡H̨̧͚͇͙̝̺͖̣̹̬̬̮̙ͅG̶̡̫͚͔̭̮̺̘̙̬̟̗̝͕̥̯͖͡O̡͇͍̮̫̖͙̠̦͓̥̩͍͘D̷̕͏̮̰̖̹͓͇S̡͇̟͕̫̣͍͉̰̝͇̫̕O̳̪̩̦̠͔̻̝͠͝͠ͅH͡͏̵͈̮̫͓͙͚͍͚̻̥͘G̷̴̴̩̼̥̗͓̠͓̻̲̝̖͍̗ͅͅO̡͙̦͔̠̜̣̰̗̣̻̱̹͖̬̰͓͓͇͘ͅḐ̙̫̗̗͢S͏̶̷̮̬̱̣͙͖̮̟͝Ş̷̵͇̳̳̳̘̱͚̱̯͙̖̣̘̺̫̹̩̠͠A̧͏͟͏̩̭̜̝̦͚͔̮̜̜͇̻V̴̷̢͓̥̞̞͜͟E͠҉̶̰̣̱̪͍͓̖̪̗͚̖̬͓͔̠̱̻̲ͅH̷̛̭̞͇͇̦̲̩͙̰̜͘͢I̡̡̞̟͍̖̰͓̻ͅM̵҉͔͎̝̱̘͓̱͓̬ͅP̷̕͏̯̳͔͇̲̳̖͈L̷̷̷̖̳̪͖̩͉̣͖̺͕̜ͅE̵͏͏̘͙͙̖̰̝̜̝̹ͅA̴͢͏͔̺͖ͅS̘̣̳͔̥̝͟E͏̡̧̞̟͔̩̲̭̤Ṱ̵̡̬͖̪͚͜H̸̛̛̞̲̞̱̬̤̝͕̫̖͔͔̼̙̯̮͎̗͝I̴̴̼̹̗̻͚̟̱͔̩̟S̴̨̧̹͓̳͚̰̤̻͙̼̳̣̭͔̫͟͞I̡̕͏̶̣̻͙̱͓̱̲͍̝̮̞͕̪̗̮S̵͡͞͏̡̠̥͔̠̩͕̳̹͔̖͓͕̼̪̜̹̬̲N̢͏̴̛̲͔̭̭̟̖͝T̶̛̘̝̱̯̩̼̹̹͘͟Ḩ̡̠͈̼̥̤͓̣̯̞̞͟͠O̴̧̧̭͙͇͕͉͕̝̥̤͕̗͉͎̤̕͠ͅͅW̸̪̖͍̕I̢͟͠͏͏̖̫̝̹̮͎̰͍̪ͅͅT̴͟͞҉̳̬͈̲̦͚̺̟͓̬ͅW̸̴̛̰̯͇͚̲̣͇͚̳͎͎͢A̷͖̺̫̺͜S̶͍̖̤͍͎͕͓̱͓̟̱̥͚̣͙̮̗͠͠S̸̥̲͙͎͓̜̣̞̱̙̻͓͠͝Ư͙̙̘̫̮͔̲̥͙͜P͏͏̷̼̲̰̳̹͈̮͔̥͉͕̪͠ͅP̫̥̹̪͟͝O̳͇͔̭̩̯͉̕͟S̴̨҉͍͈͔̜̖͙͖ͅE̵̴͕̤̖̲̙̘̝̪̹̖̯͜͡D̸̷͜͞͏̦͕̰̰͖̘̣͓̞̼̲͚̳̭̮̖T̡̤͕̲͚̗̣̠̻͎̹͢͜O̷̺̹͖̘͉̺͜͟H͓͔̰̹͜͠͝A̶̸̢̗̝͎̼̕͡P̸̨̹̞͕̤͉͚̤̰̭̘͖͔̺̩̺̼̟͢͝͞P̸̛͈̜̰̭͇̘̱̤̞̬̕ͅͅE̸̖̤͎̫͎̝̼̬̱̞͉̫N̷̢̯̰͇̺̻̲̺͚͇͇I̸̷̪͚̝̯͟͢ͅL̘̳͉̤͍̟͚̙̥̠͙͍̼̯̦͉̱̕͟͞ͅỌ̢̨̣̗̲̻̻̻͙̬͞V̮͎̤͖͔̜͚̦͇͎͕̜̹̰̦̥̙̘͟͡E̯͖̮͔̺̮̦̗͇͙̩̣̦͚ͅͅY̡̨͓͔̭ͅO̶̜̪̯̠̦̱̳͓͎̲̪͈̳͇̼̹̟̻̥̕͢͢U̡͈̮̫̙͉̙̩̺̮̠͝Į̨̧̲͙̱̥̙͔̦̝̜̞̟͍̹͠L̛̘̳̪̰̫͕͜͞O̜̠͙̰̗͍̤͈̰̭͢͠V͉̳̤̮̯̦͉͉̱͓̥̱͈͢ͅͅE̪͎̲̦̦͉̤͟͝Y̸̵̛̝̭̪̫̮̜͓̳̖̺̦͢ͅͅO̸̖͉͇̼̗̘̙̯̞͚̱̺̮̟̲U͜͏̳̠̻̜̙̪͓̱̞̗̦̜̰I̸̵̡͖̲̰̰͔̦͇̰͈̖̦̟͈̼̬͡L̦̜̤̪̟͔̱͕̣̖̳͇͇̦̥̟̟͖̕͡O҉̷̢̳̤͈͓̜̥͇͉̗̱̺͡V̼̳̝̫̱̦̗̳̘̟͙̪͘͞E̸̵̸̩̞͇̺̣̞̺̠̬͇̩̲̯̪͞ͅY̢̰͎͍̺͉̮̬͢O̷̧̨̹̘̙̩͙͝Ų̸̙̬̭̯̦̱̝̳̘͖͉̰̬͓̗͕̟̼̥͟I̛̛͎̤͈͈̘̼͡M̵̶̸̡̰͍̯͔͠S̨̘̳̹̩̯̙̬̦͜O̴̝͎͚̗̱͝R̷̶̢͕̦̫̺͖͝ͅR̛̳̙͖̞̻̙͚̲̗͎̪̞̬͎Y͢҉̧̤̖̝̹̝̗̘̫̣̘I̷̦̘͕̯̬̯̺͚̤̬͚͓̙͚͈͉̕͟͠M͔̝̗͉̱̠̠͙̮̱̭̩͉̣͢S̨̕͠͏̖̬̮̞̗̗͇̺̭̟̳̼͉̮͖̫̩̹ͅO̖̼̗͙̥͇̥̯̮̫͍͙̭̕͟R̶̢̧̦͇̰̗̖̝͉͉͔͎ͅŖ̴̷̦̟̠̬͙͈̳͍̜͈͉̹̠̜̰̮ͅY̧̪͉̜̞̻̮̪̙̳͍̰͎̲̭̰͙̬̦̗I̛̳͉̪̜͍̙̗̰̼͚̱͉M̛͚̪̬̖͇̟̘̩̦̦̫̘͔͔̱̰͘͘͟S̴̹̼̬̩̦̣͖̘̱̪̤̭͟O҉̘̦̭̯̬Ŗ̼̺͍͓̰̯̯̘̣͇͍̪̗̻̠̝̝̲͟͟R͏͓͖̣̖̜͔̫̪͇͕͚̳̗͍Y̢̬̦̜̞͚͍̣̩̲̣̝̹̠͟I̴̢̮̱͍͉͈̗̗̳̭͓̫̖̠͈M̧҉̡̗̙̜̻̤͈S̷̷͍̦̭̯̲ͅO̵͏̘̩̣̳͔̜̣R̶̨͙̦̭̼̩͍̝͔̖͇͢R̷̺͖͙̯̤̺͇͔̺̜̳͕̘̳͜Y̶̟̲̦̮͓͘I̢͖̦͕̼̩͎͈̝̮͔̭͡M̶͏̢̨̠̺̞̲͉͇̙͚̙͈̼̱̗̦̩S̡̟̰͎̻͕͇͜͡O̸̢҉̺̰̣̘͍̭͈R͢͞҉̧̘̖̮̙̖͚͚̺̠̭̱͎̱̙Ŗ̶̨̭̗͕̦̭͙̘ͅY̥̦̖͙͇͇̖̫͓͇̘͕̻̱̰̹̪̺̕͜͝ͅI̡̗͚̰̟̭͇̖͠͝M҉̸̪͉̭͚̺̻͙̟͕̤͚͚̗̜̭̻̠̕͞ͅS̶͏͚̞͖͔͉͈̞͉̺̣̟͔̦̪̤͙̱O̳̯̙͔̮͎̟̟͙̥͍̪͇̞̹͟͟͠͞R̛͕̹̮̞̜̥͇͚̭̦̰̤͓̹͈ͅR̨̰͚̲͖̻͓̳̙͕̰̺̺̜͕͓̟͖͈̕͜͟ͅY̵̡̦͎̞̰̩͍͚͎̩̠͔̤̥͍̼ͅI͏̶̧͔̘̤̜̝͓̣͈̮̮̥̫̪̝̱̩͚͜ͅM̶̡̛͜҉̰̖͖̩̥̖͙̳̠̱̺̮S̸̨̺̪͍͉͎̼̤͕̭̤̕͡O̶̧̘̠̮̭͞ͅR̛̠̦̱͍̮̰̭͖̻̗͎̕͘͝R̴̶̷̟͓̮̖̲̣̳̺̫̥̝͙̤̕Y͇̻̳̮͟͟͞_

 

 **Game over.** Load save?

 

 **> Y̴̨͇̪̤̘̱̠e҉̝̘̠͎̜s̬**                No

 

**I̷̠̝̖̻̼͈̖͎̟̽̅͌̍̿̔t͖̣͇̟̥̙̊̓̇̋͒̈́ͭ͐ ̡̖̥̳ͭ̎̌͗ͭ̐͑ͬͅwͤ͋͝͏̞̗̞͓̗̥̝͚i̩̘̻ͤͧ̚͠l̨͕̞͚̹̬ͫͩͬ̓̒ͅl͓͎̣̭̻̙̖̋͌̅͢͡ ̱̤̜̝͕̥̐̆ͩͬ̋͟͡b͎̈́̂ͭ͜ẽͬ̋̾̀̓̃͏̛͙͔̜̜̭ ̴̢̤̻̀͌ͬ̎͊ͧ̃d̲͔̳͓̐ͩ͝ḯ̧̬̖̓̒̈̿͗̍͌͒f̷̠̼͙̰̟̣̤͓̽̽ͅf̛͎͓̳͖̯̜̆͆́ͥͫͦ͒ͪ͢ḙ͚̣͈͍̺ͤͫͧ̑͆̉̉͘͢ͅr̸̞̼̹̆ͭ̂̃̃̚ȩ͍̰̮͙͓̾͒͑ͧ͐ǹ̗̯̓̈̎̾̓̈͆t̳͉̰̜̣̖̽͑̄͝ ͔̙̣͔͖ͯ̓͒ͥ̐͜t̢̗͔̝̗̺͔̪͇ͬ̈́ͧͬ̊̋̚͝h̡͖̲̯̠̔̽̊́ͩ͒̄͢͝i̛̙̳̱̪̳̥͆̓̿̀ͥ̂͌ͅͅͅś̱͖̩̙̟̞͋ ̉̅҉͏̣̭̖͕̟̞̫͇t̲̱̎͗͛ͩ̀̓̂̂ͧ͡i̛̥̫͔̪̰̰̰̦ͩ̃̐͑͘m̢͓̖͈̲͖̫̭̝͍̏͋͝ę̴̗̺̫̭̉͒ͭͦͭ͛.̵̣͓͙̰̌͗̄̆**

 

Restore system files.

 

Files cannot be found at this time. Run system diagnostic?

 

 **> Yes**                 No

 

Run C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Final Fantasy XV\diagnostic.exe

 

Searching…

 

Searching…

 

Files are missing or have been deleted. Please contact the administrator. If administrator is not available, system files can be restored to their original format. Would you like to do that now?

 

 **> Yes**                 No

 

 **Warning!** Restoring files to their original format will delete all game save data. Proceed?

 

 **> Yes**                 No

 

Run C:\Program Files (x86)\Steam\steamapps\common\Final Fantasy XV\ffxv.app

 

 **A Final Fantasy For Fans And First Timersssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss** Your PC ran into a problem and needs to restart. We’re just collecting some error info, and then we’ll restart for you. (0% complete)

 

If you’d like to know more, you can search online later for this error: I_THOUGHT_YOU_LOVED_ME_WHY_ARE_YOU_DOING_THIS_TO_ME

 

(25% complete)

 

(60% complete)

 

(85% complete)

 

(100% complete)

 

Loading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c
> 
> 1st break quote is from Majora's Mask, 2nd is from Super Paper Mario, 3rd is from KOTOR II
> 
> i have a [ twitter!](http://www.twitter.com/lgn1s)


End file.
